Hi me!
Minutes later, being the narcissist he was, Robert was still staring at himself as two strangers in town came up, asking for directions to a local bar. Laura and Clemenesta were already there.
(to be continued)
Monthly Archives: July 2023
original Robert
“Black Ice and Marwood, huh?” he spoke from the illegal 7th to fellow pew sitter Blue Berry Girl after everyone had left. Neither had been seen in these here photo-novels in a while. “Blue and yellow blue and yellow blue and yellow,” she rattled in return. They knew they had to do it to save NWES City as a whole. It was a start anyway, the *conception* of the thing. “Kiss not kill,” she had requested earlier, fairy wings fluttering in anticipation. She’d lost some weight, maybe enough for it to work, magnetic attraction and all. She’d overlook his lopsided legs and arms in turn, the blue and red split, and focus on blonde — yellow again. The uniter of the hemispheres. If this didn’t work then: maybe the spherical blue berry torso would return and everything would go to rot, town lost. Jesus use to save. Now it’s up to them.
“Your place or mine?” he finally relented, imagining in his head what would turn out to be reality a little later. It seemed good it seemed right. “Right here,” she said in turn. “Split the difference.”
“Okay.” And they got to it.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0311, Black Ice, Jeogeot, Marwood, Neptune, NWES Island^
FILE and TILE apparently have a close close relationship
In the TILE Church of Neptune, she read from the good book of Matthew, by memory of course, since she was married to the lout.
“And yea, some say he came from the North to fabled Constantynople, like a slut on a horse in the water. Some say from the South, like a pole cat, slithering along inside the night sky like a dove or train. To those who say East or West we abhor you, ignore you, blank you in the streets, hold you contemptible in court. There is only FILE… not rank. I do not even capitalize a single letter of the latter, yet the former is shouted from the streets, the towns, the continents, the whole world. Even if, yea, it is only 31 sims of length in an up and down manner. The 32 was lopped off, like an early retirement. We pray to gods for the time to make up for it and, yea, the gods deliver.”
“She’s in good form tonight,” said Sally Spear to Sarah Shake one row down from the front to make it an even 6, counting the 4 filled on the other side of the aisle. It was bad luck to sit in the 7th, which represented the missing sim. “Keep a gap between you and the gods,” Suzanna Oh 2345 said another time (paraphrasing). Like the good and great and wonderful letters of our TILE have gaps between them to protect the singular entity, some 1 and some 2. To those who say 3 or any other number we abhor you.” (etc.)
Like Laura and Clemenesta behind them, they were staying at the Foxy so-as to be close to church and emergency worship sessions, etc. Because definitely their soul needed to be saved, they felt. Jesus let them down — was cut off — because he and his clan were missing the 4th, the yellow some say, others: green. The 4th is the shadow, the thing not wanted to be dealt with. Yet all 4 embraced it; began having private TILE meetings in the old Video Days Rental building where it all started, over in the Black Diamond part of town. Never mind that the place now sells tattoos. Definitely part of the magic! 100 lindens per week rent well spent, especially split between the lot of ’em. A secret door connected the 2 parts.
Then one day the door went away and Laura and Clemenesta were alone, no robots around. It was just them all along; they had awoken as if from a dream. Newton.
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0310, Black Ice, Constantynople, Jeogeot, Lands End, Nautilus, Neptune, NORTH, NWES Island^, Rank & File, Wild West
“Robot Dreams” continues
“I’m looking for information on Ted Bear, his current whereabouts,” spoke Suzanna Oh 2345 out of the side of her mouth which she didn’t possess. The little robot at the bar looked knowledgeable. And, most importantly, one of her kind. He probably wasn’t stationed here like that, at a centerpoint of gossip, for nuttin. He had dirt. Spill, she requested after sliding up beside him… or her, actually. Molly OU812. Make me at least one small mound at the bottom of a hill. Bigger than ant size, maybe anteater size. Something I can really dig into. But most of this was implied.
“Ted Bear. Just checking…” the smaller robot sputtered out.
“He use to own a small island in this sim. Say: islet.”
“Islet,” the small robot complied, still checking her database with a corresponding lowering of surface functions.
“No, I mean, let’s call it an islet. Very small.”
“Smaller than… me?” Still checking behind the scenes.
“No. Ted Bear is bigger than you so that does not compute.”
“You?”
“No, you. Ted Bear is bigger than you.”
“You?”
Pause. “Oh, sizes right. I’d say between me and you. Teddy bear size, but to the max.”
“Fit (still checking) into a 3 by 3 foot box?” She was just making chit chat really at this point while computing deep down, where it counts. 02345 x 812 files counted now. Only 812 to… *done*.
“3 x 3 box,” Oh 2345 pondered aloud, but then OU812 interrupted.
“I have all the information needed. You can stop talking now while I do. Ted Bear lived here from 2020-2022 on an 20 x 22 foot islet near the center of Moomit Bay. Conditions for entering: you had to bare something, could be a small article of clothing, could be all of them. Ted Bear was clinically insane. He was quarantined. I will pause now to let you ask questions if you wish. I have all the information.”
Suzanna Oh 2345 looked around. The music was blaring — no one else could hear them. No one even at the bar presently, not even a tender. Must be on break, perhaps a big bathroom one. With her supersonic ears Suzanna detected several flushes earlier and some other noises. An upset stomach could be the problem. The tender could have, yes, tended himself, imbibed himself, didn’t cut off himself at the limit normally assigned to others. He wasn’t a good tender to himself.
OU812 waited patiently, hearing the whirring of Suzanna Oh 2345’s inner workings indicating she was thinking. Suzanna Oh’s thoughts shifted to a question, changing the sound slightly, raising it up an overall pitch or two. More focused thinking here.
“Baker Bloch, the owner of the blog–”
“Yes,” anticipated OU812. “He was there. Took off his hat so he could enter. Wheeler Wilson or Wilson Wheeler too. She had to take off more. Ted Bear set up an islet next to his islet so that Baker Bloch could be with him forever and ever. He turned into a bobblehead, top making up 9/16ths of his body’s total mass. But then he was saved.” OU812 stopped here, calculating the many possible meanings of that word. Backed up? No, that wasn’t it.
“Describe the interaction with Wheeler Wilson more,” Suzanna Oh 2345 requested.
(to be continued)
0100111-011-1000
“You already have *7*. And you want to buy more??”
“Just one, Sweetie Pie. A slither of a craft. Minnow it’s called.”
“It won’t fit. It won’t fit! Especially since you bought that jetski last month. Close the blinds, hmph. I don’t want to see them any more for a while; I want to be *blinded* to them for a while.”
“As you wish.”
And so begins the solo journey of Robert Matthew or Matthew Robert in the 8th, purchased the next day despite the wife’s protests. Intending only to take a 3 hour or so “spite” cruise, it ended up being for the rest of his natural life, which was practically infinite in scope and length. This, early on actually, really really early, brought him to Constantynople in his new “fishing vessel”.
“Where am I?” he exclaimed after landing softly on the sandy shore of the place. “I’ve got to find the person in charge!”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0308, Constantynople, Lands End, Nautilus, Rank & File, Wild West
the coming of the robots
1st: Robert Matthew. Or Matthew Robert, whichever. Like Shelley and her horse before him, came down from Beatrice, via a rowboat in his case but, later, some say a duck to match his yellow. Or a yellow horse, whatever. Anyway, here he is, arriving from the north. Invited by Constantynople Prime Minister Baker Bloch himself to solve some obvious town issues. Too much human stuff going on; it’s becoming a weakness, maybe even part of a curse. Like Robert’s old Soap swampland he fortunately sold to a gullible man from Mark Twain, Florida.
“Town hall, please.”
“Right, then left through the tree, hehe, huhu, hooo.”
He watched him walk away, then: “Did — did I do well, Tom?”
Reply in head.
“A white aggie, eh? Best one yet!”
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0307, Constantynople, Nautilus, Rank & File
00390306
She’d lost her landmark so she just teleported into the center of the sim. She knew her mother would be nearby.
“Lost again?” she said upon seeing Alice materialize about 15 feet away: 128/128 she knew; wasn’t uncommon for someone to beam in there. “Well come over and sit beside me and be found again, saved even. I want to tell you about–”
“Don’t start Mother. I’m not here for religion.”
Pause. “Then what are you here for? You know I’m working. Joe Smo due any moment. There.” She nods toward the horizon, pretending to see someone. “Office Johnston coming this way, along with Preacher Ben and Farmer Louis. All out for a good time, all sinners underneath holy cloth and whatnot — I don’t know, maybe the caffeine talking, child. So what gives? Money?”
“*No*. It’s not always about money.”
Maw takes a drag off her cigarette, still staring into the distance. “Where you staying now, girl? You haven’t been home–”
“6 weeks, I know.”
Maw takes a final drag, drops the half smoked cig to the leaf strewn cement and steps on it. “Don’t guess you’re going to tell me where you’ve been, hmm. Ashamed of your Maw, huh. Ashamed of what she’s become. Well, I have *dreams*.”
“I know, Maw. Lavern and Shirley. Just thinking about that this morning.” Alice tries to look where her mother is looking. Still nothing — no one there.”
“Rumors of a beer factory (being built) up in Barrow County, I’ve heard. Could be moving again soon, child. But what do you care? You don’t have any friends here. Not any more. Who did they lock up last week, the psychic children and all. Wanda? Gloria? Wait — they’ve been gone a while from me. Beach combers. Well — at least *you* stayed.” She thought about Alice’s recent absence from her side again. “Kind of I suppose. Soo…”
“I’m glad of the factory, if it’s true.” Alice really was. She wanted her mother to fulfill her dream. And business had been slow here lately, she knew, what with the law enforcement crack down. Crack came first, along with the rest of the hard drugs. Then it moved to prostitution and liquor, perhaps in that order. The officers were still loosey-goosey on the whoring but it had already scared most of the men away, her regular clientele and such. Bob the Baker — hadn’t been by in a week. Joe the Smo — wait, I made him up. Dennis the, not Menace — no, a farmer. Wait…
“I came here because of Robert,” Alice uttered while I was still spacing out about nonsense, making up names, making up games the made up names play. Tennis for Dennis, golf for Rolph, archery for Yvette Archer (Archer, Y.). “Robert, huh?” Maw finally responded, thinking about lighting another one. “Robert Johnston I suppose.”
“*No*. Not *him*. Robert Leferber.”
“Is that how you spell that? I mean…” her Maw quickly backtracked, “… pronounce that?”
“Robert Lefarber,” Alice tested. “Robert Lafoger, Lafager, Lafageux. Damn those French names.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about, honey.” Another cig from the carton, quick in the mouth, quick for a light.
“*Anyway*, the guy who owned the swamp.”
Maw almost swallowed her just lit cig. “*Matthew*??”
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0306, Paper Soap, Soap
Swamp Shack Purple
It was still there, the chest that had caused so much trouble. A drifter had drifted in, seeing no one home, no one around (green dots). “Get a role in Our Second Lyfe!” her Maw implored. She: a ho. Well defined, worked 9-5 — PM to AM instead of the normal visa versa — came home and slept till 12, made lunch, watched some soaps in the afternoon (Soap!), then some game shows after that, then the news, then supper, another game show and 2 reruns of classic sitcoms, “Happy Days” and “Lavern and Shirley” I believe. She really identified with the character of Shirley, if so. Working gal with a *slight* drinking problem. She wanted to work in a beer factory like these 2 lower middle class Milwaukee gals; that was her goal. Ho-ing in Soap was just leading to that, like her soaps were just a lead in to the nighttime shows featuring, at the end, Shirley. Then it was off to work, usually after toasting her on-screen hero with her own favorite beer, Duff being the current fad, the famous Springfeld product of course. But, ironically, her Maw didn’t know anything about the Smipsons, reality getting mixed up and confused with fantasy, dreams with physical. Then one day, on her way to work at her most common post at the downtown motel, she found a book, marble on the front…
Her Maw always trailed off when telling that story. “I found you in a hole in the wall,” she always said about her 2nd child, 3rd by Mouse if you count Wanda. And where were all her sisters and brothers and half siblings? Some had perished in the Great War — who didn’t lose family members to that awful awful conflict? Last she heard Gloria was working at some beach. Maybe Wanda is there too, she pondered. Maybe *I* should be there too, then. The great threesome together again, the Trinity we called each other back in the day. Marsha and Bill and John and Peter and Isabella and Jason Foxchild the Third were always outsiders staring into this holy triad of siblings. They protected and consoled each other during the war. And, Alice felt, another type of war was coming. She needed to settle down.
So back to the chest. Borneo, she knew. One of the 4 sacred corners of… something. A hypercube, she’d heard, maybe from her Maw who learned about it through a client, a well positioned Soap resident with the money to uncover such secrets in whatever God forsaken land they hide, Iowa and its vast, empty cornfields necessarily included.
Borneo, she thought, trying to get a grasp on the thing, the planes, the edges, the corners. Yes, she’d heard about it through her Maw who learned about it through Robert (well positioned Soap resident) when she showed him the book. A photo lies within — one of her Maw. Robert kept it there. And now it’s here. And so is she. Soo sleepy…
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0305, Paper Soap, Soap
sunrise
Something weird was found the next morning. A wave that wouldn’t crash, and on the other side of the beach from the surfing ones. What gives? Al thinks.
Suddenly 2 killers appear from down the road. “Bang!” he shouts while trying to shoot them dead, quickly followed by “Dang! Forgot to bring the real one.” He’ll have to fight them by hand. Then the immense rolling noise stops and he instead stares straight ahead, wave gone. Mirage?
The killers wink out too. Killed the wave instead? Perhaps he needs more rest. Yes, that’s it. Head back to bed, Al. Back to the beach. You’re dreaming. Head back into yourself and then you can wake up properly. Tom in his head now, he realized. He’d had a rough night of sleeping.
He dreamed that child Shelley owned a rocking horse she loved more than anything else in the world besides her cats and maybe *maybe* her Mom. Made by the same people, by the way, that created that TILE towel rack positioned beside the grown up version of her in that earlier post here. TILE rack, then, like Al had a ball. The mystery continues…
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0304, Hana Lei^^
sunset
“Okay I’m here on the beach beside the TILE ball, Tom. I’ve got you on speaker so I can keep reading this interesting magazine in front of me. Perhaps clues in there, you understand.” Al didn’t really believe there were any clues in there. He just liked the articles advertised on the cover. All about Home — he wished he had a true home and not just continue to be a traveler of both time and space. He desired to settle down, like the old days, fast becoming the *good* old days.
After the reply: “About 8:01 PM it looks by the sun. Roughly speaking.”
Reply.
“No. No one on the beach except me. No surfers spotted, no one.”
Reply.
“It’s a pretty beach. Pretty long that is (*snicker*).”
Reply.
“No time for jokes, I understand. Jokes later.”
Reply.
“I’ll get settled in. I guess I’ll just bed down here for the night. Then start up the road tomorrow after I check out the beach more in the morning. Maybe I’ll get to interact with someone then.” Al didn’t doubt that his boss Thomasina was onto something sending him here. TILE was strong — he could feel it, as he does. ‘No orange, no purple, let’s make this shit happen,’ he recalls about the sacred manuscript. And here, supposedly, is the amender of such, the bringer of cow and a lot of other things. Won’t have any shorts left, Thomasina said. Al was looking for a little yellow naked fellow. But he was wrong on that.
(to be continued)
Filed under **VIRTUAL SL, 0039, 0303, Hana Lei^^
Sunklands 